


Alternative Medicine

by theskywasblue



Category: Inception
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames breaks his leg and Arthur is a terrible nurse (or maybe the best nurse ever?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternative Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a day off, and I wrote porn. That's how it goes...

“I could have finished out the job - you didn’t have to go and get a new forger.”

Arthur has to admit that Eames looks miserable, lying in bed with his casted leg propped up on pillows. It’s bad enough having a broken leg, but it’s a wound to his professional pride to be replaced on a job.

“Marion said that your painkillers are going to interact with the compound we’re using.” At least Marion knows about the interaction. Military-grade Somnicin is hard to come by, and working with unregulated pharmaceuticals, strange and sometimes dangerous drug interactions can crop up unexpectedly.

“I could go off the drugs a while.” Even as he says it, Arthur can tell by Eames’ face that he knows it’s not going to happen. He’s already on the lowest dose he can get away with, barely sleeping and a little glassy-eyed with pain and slightly grey-skinned.

“Just get some rest, Eames - it’s already been done, there’s no point complaining about it.”

Eames grunts, thumping his head against the pillow. “I’m bloody _bored_ , Arthur.”

Arthur tosses him the television remote, then grabs his bag and heads for the door. “ _Rest_ Eames. And take one of those damned pills already!”

Arthur had never planned to be a nurse. For that matter, he’d never intended to be an international criminal, so the only thing to do is roll with the punches. He spends nine and a half hours at the loft, helping Douglas finalize the details on the first-level maze, and when he gets back to the hotel room with a dull headache and a bag of Chinese takeout, he finds Eames asleep in front of a National Geographic special on killer whales. In the last five days, he’s been sleeping so restlessly that Arthur doesn’t have the heart to wake him right away; instead, he switches the TV over to the local news, cracks a window to let some air into the stuffy hotel room, and eats his share of the takeout, while Eames snores softly.

Actually, if not for the cast, it wouldn’t be all that different from how he and Eames have been spending their downtime, lately. Arthur doesn’t pause to think of it very often, but they’ve worked more jobs together in the last eighteen months than they have apart. Arthur doesn’t remember how they went from late night fuck-and-runs when they happened to be in the same city at the same time, to purposely arranging their schedules so they could spend whole weekends together (not always in bed), to working - and sleeping - pretty much exclusively together (Arthur is exclusive, as far as the sex goes; and thanks to his contacts and extensive research, he knows that Eames is, too, without Eames having to volunteer the information - though he did, a few months ago.)

“Arthur?” Eames shifts on the bed, scrubs his hand across his face. “When did you get in?”

“Half an hour ago. Hungry?”

“Famished.” Eames pulls himself up on the pillows, a little unsteadily, and accepts the takeout container and a pair of chopsticks from Arthur. “How’s the job going?”

Arthur shrugs, “Fine.” Their new forger isn’t as good as Eames, but then, no one really is; Arthur isn’t being generous, either. He believes in giving credit where credit is due.

Eames picks a bit of rice off his grubby T-shirt. “You’re supposed to tell me it’s rubbish and the new forger is a wanker.”

Arthur snorts, closing his empty takeout container and tossing it towards the garbage can. “You don’t need me to stroke your ego.”

Eames flashes Arthur a tired grin. “Well, not my _ego_ necessarily...”

“You’re disgusting,” Arthur tells him, though it’s not really Eames’ fault. Well, the attitude is, but everything else is an unfortunate side-effect of having a couple of pounds of fiberglass on his leg. “We’re getting you in the shower or I’m getting another room.”

Step one is a dry-cleaning bag and a whole lot of waterproof first aid tape around Eames’ cast; a process that isn’t exactly unfamiliar to Arthur, who broke his arm in tenth grade. Eames can get himself to the bathroom on his crutches well enough, but keeping his balance in the shower presents a problem. A bath might be simpler, but the last time Eames tried that on his own, he almost passed out getting vertical again, so it’s just simpler for Arthur just to get in the shower with him and give him something to brace against.

Eames looks better the minute the water starts running down his face. The heat from the water adds colour to his cheeks and down his chest as he tips his head into the spray and sighs gratefully.

“You don’t have to waste time playing nursemaid to me, you know.” Eames says as Arthur reaches around him for the bottle of shampoo on the bathtub ledge. “I could, if pressed, manage on my own.”

“You could,” Arthur agrees. He’s not afraid to admit that he knows that letting Eames lean against him while he shampoos his hair is beyond anything he’s ever done for anyone else he’s ever been with. Except maybe Cobb; but the nature of what Arthur did for Cobb was different. Arthur kept Cobb sane, but he likes to think he keeps Eames happy. Besides which, Eames was with him when he had that brutal flu last spring in Cairo, so fair is fair. “It’s not like I have another job lined up.”

Eames’ brow forms hard creases, and Arthur uses a hand to shield his eyes from stray shampoo bubbles, running down from his hair. “I thought you did.”

“Well, I decided to drop out; and don’t snoop through my stuff.”

“Don’t leave your laptop open when you go to the loo.” Eames laughs, but he sobers quickly. “I mean it, Arthur - if you have something else…”

“Hurry up with the soap,” Arthur tells him. “Water’s getting cold.”

The trickiest maneuver is getting Eames safely from the shower back to the bed without one or both of them slipping and needing another trip to the nearest emergency room. With Eames safely perched on the edge of the bed, he starts looking for fresh clothes to wear, but Eames catches him by the wrist and reels him back.

“You’re really too good to me,” he says, looking painfully serious about it in a way that makes Arthur’s heart run just a little too fast. “I would have pulled a runner if it was you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Arthur says, confidently. “You’re not running anywhere for at least six weeks.”

Not that Arthur’s certainty has anything to do with the cast.

“I suspect it will be a fair bit longer than that,” Eames responds; and that’s simultaneously the most frustrating and the most perfect thing about Eames - all the things he knows without Arthur having to say a word.

Arthur enjoys giving instructions, however, so he tries to be a clear as possible when he puts his hand in the middle of Eames’ chest and says, “Lie down.”

Eames needs help to get his cast up onto the bed. Once he’s comfortable, Arthur settles across his hips, with one hand braced on Eames’ chest. Eames grins up at him, equal parts fond and predatory.

“Are you going to stroke my ego now, darling?”

“No,” Arthur responds; but he has to bite back a smile. “I’m going to smother you with a pillow.”

“All for the best, I’m sure.” Eames nods magnanimously. “Put me out of my misery.”

“Oh, shut up.” When Arthur kisses Eames, there’s a burn of stubble against skin that he knows he’s going to regret later; partly because his lips are going to be raw and partially because he’s going to spend the next six to eight weeks imagining what it might feel like to have that rough growth of beard leaving a burn on his asscheeks and the insides of his thighs. Arthur has always been kinky, has always loved to fuck and be fucked, but something about Eames makes him want everything, all the time.

When he pulls back, both of them are breathless and tenting the damp hotel towels around their waists with their erections.

“This isn’t fucking fair, you know,” Eames says, putting one hand restlessly through Arthur’s wet hair and biting at the edge of his jaw until Arthur pushes his head in the other direction, wary of painfully obvious hickeys. “There’s so much I want to do to you and here I am, a bloody cripple.”

“The mighty Eames, brought low by an icy sidewalk.”

It’s cruel to tease him, but Arthur just can’t help himself. Eames’ mouth curls into an unhappy pout, and Arthur kisses him again until it gives way, tugging both their towels aside and lining their hips up. The warm slide of skin on skin makes Arthur close his eyes for a moment, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and at once, Eames’ thumb is there, drawing back Arthur’s lower lip, then pushing in, just past his teeth, pressing against Arthur’s tongue. It makes Arthur work his hips faster, makes something deep inside him tight with desire. Eames’ other hand squeezes his ass, and the sound Arthur makes is frantic.

“Fuck…” he breathes out, shaky and desperate. “Eames, I…”

Eames says, “I know, I know,” breathing way too fast as he repositions his hand just enough that he can get his index finger in between Arthur’s cheeks. It doesn’t take more than a little bit of pressure up against Arthur’s entrance to go along with the friction on his cock and he’s coming, all over Eames’ belly and his still-hard cock. He can’t keep a decent rhythm after that, so he gets his hand into the mess and works Eames in his palm. It only takes a few strokes before he’s gone too.

Arthur takes a few minutes for them both to catch their breath before he asks, “How’s your leg?”

“Sore,” Eames admits with a twitch of one shoulder. “Though I will say, that was far better for me than swallowing a load of pills.”

“Take one every eight hours?” Arthur suggests, jokingly; but Eames palms the back of his neck and pulls him into a slow, messy kiss.

“Darling, you are the best nurse I have ever had.”

-End-


End file.
